


Under the Influence of the Moon and Stars

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, First Time jitters, love and sex, love as a religion, sex as a consecration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline is post first visit to Denerim/meeting Goldana. On the way to Lake Calenhad for an ambush.The only thing worse than the sex conversation was the awkward scene that followed. We all deserve better than that.Part 3 of the set.





	1. Chapter 1

She’s not surprised to find him waiting for her on the way back to camp. She had half expected him to pop out of the water while she was bathing, conjured by intense thoughts of him, thoughts she just can’t shake anymore. Something has been building all day, like thunderstorms on the horizon, like magic let loose and needing an outlet. 

There’s something different in the way he looks at her now, shining like the sun even in the dark. She wants to say something but can’t find enough words; the ones she can find are variations of  _please_  and  _I love you,_ with a needy, greedy command or two thrown in for good measure. She’s been happy to wait for him to get where he needs to be but what little patience she possesses has long since been used up. Now she’s just coasting on her love for him, trying to make something holy out of her restless need to feel his naked skin on hers.

Usually he asks,  _would you like to walk with me?_  There’s none of that tonight, no words from him either. The question is there, though, in the way he’s looking at her, in his outstretched hand waiting for hers. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say there's  _a_  question in those things, because the more she looks the more she thinks he’s asking for more than a walk.

She wants to throw herself at him, literally and figuratively, fling herself against his chest and start crying,  _yes please_  tumbling from trembling lips, the only answer she has for him, no matter what the question. Instead she smiles and gives him a deep curtsy before taking his hand.

They walk quietly; that’s their way now, letting the silence settle them into each other, into the new thing they become when they’re together.  More than the sum of their parts, more than just two hearts that beat as one. She’s still her, still the same Mistral, but now with a layer of gold, of sunshine. Of love, the kind she would never have been bold enough to ask for.

She thinks she should be nervous. Shouldn’t she? This is nothing like asking Dairren up to her room—that was just her being her, Bryce Cousland’s Fierce Girl finally ready to set herself on fire out of sheer boredom. She was tired of waiting and grabbed at the best option in front of her, no matter how it turned out. What she couldn’t cover with charm she’d cover with strength, so who cared?

But this now, this is something far different. This is her being offered something truly priceless. What if she says the wrong thing? Does the wrong thing? What if she belches? Maker’s breath, what if she has to fart? 

She tries not to panic, or laugh, even. Laughing would be worse, he’d want to know what was so funny, and how could she tell him that? But if she didn’t he might think she was laughing at him and...

She stops and gently pulls her hand from his, holding it up to ask him to give her a moment. She can hardly look at him, but a fast snatch of her eyes tells her what she needs to know: at the moment he’s little more than curious. She closes her eyes and counts from ten, letting her breathing fall into a more normal pattern while she puts some of her warrior training to use to make herself focus, to push the nervous fishwife from her head for the night. When she has herself steady, she slips her hand back into his and starts walking again.

He gives her a minute, then, when she doesn’t say anything, he gently squeezes her hand. “Is everything okay?”

She expected that question. “It is now. I was being ridiculous.” She takes another deep breath and doesn’t make him ask for more. “I wasn’t nervous, so I decided I should be nervous about not being nervous, and that made me really nervous and I started thinking of all the stupid things that can go wrong.”

It’s his turn to stop; instead of letting go of her hand he uses it to pull her to him. Slowly, carefully, watching closely to make sure she wants him to. Everything inside her turns to butterflies, pushing up out of her throat with a light, happy laugh. The way he’s looking at her makes any other response impossible.

He draws her close but not too, just enough to feel each other’s heat. “I have a very long list of stupid things that can go wrong. Want to compare notes?”

“Only if it will make you feel better.” Which is nothing but truth. She will, if he wants her to. She’ll even look him in the eye while she does.

He gives her a laugh and steps up to close the small gap between them. “Are you ready for the serious?”

“Yes, please.” She tries to keep a serious face and can’t, gives him a grin and a longer answer. “Which is probably going to be my answer to most any question you ask me tonight. If that helps.”

“Don’t give me an opening like that; don’t you know how tempting that can be?” This is a new Alistair coming out, still sweet and funny but now with a heat that hadn’t been there before. Had maybe been bubbling under the surface but always held back, until now.

“As tempting as the idea of how tempting I can be to you, Ser Theirin.”

He puts his hand in her hair, already long accustomed to the gesture, his fingers moving instinctively. There’s something different in the touch now and it doesn’t take much to figure it out, it’s that same heat lighting up his eyes, turning them from spring sunshine to hard summer gold. She has a brief thought, a moment of wonder if she’ll be able to handle this. She’s already coming apart at the seams and he hasn’t even kissed her. What’s that going to be like with this new fire licking his tongue?

“You've already tempted me beyond reason, my lady. I am but a simple man trembling at your feet.”

“Oh, Maker.” It’s nothing more than a breathless moan but it’s loud enough to carry to his ears, to make his eyes darken more and his hand tighten in her hair.

“I’m done with pretending, Mistral, with trying to deny the truth of how I feel about you. I can’t imagine being without you ever again, not even for a night. I want to lay you down and hold you close and never let you go again.”

She can’t speak at first, can’t do anything but stand there and look at him, eyes wide and mouth open, so deeply touched she doesn’t know how to process it. His words were amazing, but nothing compared to the truth in his eyes. If she ever has any doubt he truly cares about her, the look of love that accompanied the words will forever lay the doubts to rest.

“Yes, please.” The butterflies are flying free again and taking her with them; she’s floating away on the current of her love for him, and it feels so good she has to laugh.

He laughs with her, shining brighter. “I’m serious, you know that, right? There’s no going back after this, not for me.”

“Yes, please,” and now she’s starting to cry a little, and the only way she knows to make it stop is to lean up and kiss him. “Yes, please, all of that. Always.”

He scoops her up, so fast she doesn’t have time to yelp, she can only laugh as he starts running with her, their laughter trailing out behind them like ribbons.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t run far, which is both good and bad. She’s ready to get on with getting on, but wasn’t it amazing, the wind on her face and his strong arms around her, laughter wreathing them like moonlight?

 

He had been busy while she was bathing, and she smiles at his efforts, her hand to her mouth to try to hold in some of her joy. He's set up a small camp for them, with the softest blankets and a lean-to made from a brightly patched quilt. When he stands her on the ground he gives her a quick kiss before moving to start the fire, giving her time to take it all in. There’s a basket of food, because he knows how she’s always hungry, and fragrant wildflowers strewn everywhere, giving them their own bower. There’s even a small, noisy brook nearby, adding more music to the night sounds. It's so romantic she’s afraid to breathe and spoil it somehow.

 

Except it really can’t be spoiled, not by anything they might do. She knows forces outside their control could easily ruin everything—she has far too much firsthand knowledge of such things—but barring that, there’s simply no need to worry.

 

 _Yes, but_ , the fishwife wants to say, and she won’t let her. This will be perfect simply because she’s with him.

 

His hesitance is all gone. She can tell by the way he stands and comes to her, the way his hand immediately finds its place again. “Do you want to eat something? Or should we wait for snacks between rounds?”

 

“Between rounds? Feeling ambitious, are we?”

 

He pulls her tight to him and kisses her deeply. That fiery tongue she was expecting is more than she could have guessed, the heat in his kiss turning her to ash in his hands. “With you I feel ten feet tall and armor plated. Ambitious doesn’t even come close.”

 

“Then let the food wait. Let everything wait, as I have.”

 

He lets his hands trail down the side of her head, down to her neck, stroking her skin like he’s touching a holy relic. “I’ll make you wait no longer, my love. Your desire is my command.”

 

His voice is deep and needy, breathlessly rough, feeling like an extra set of hands on her, lighting her up as much as his mouth and his fingers. He kisses down her jaw, dipping below to her neck for the first time.

 

“Oh, Maker, keep doing that.” It’s not quite a response to his declaration; she’s a bit too dazed for that. The way he smiles against her pulse makes her groan, makes her realize she’d better pay attention to how loud she gets. “I hope you brought something to stuff in my mouth; I’m going to need something to keep me quiet.”

 

His grip tightens, enough to squeeze the air from her lungs. “Maker’s breath, Mistral, don’t give me such thoughts; that’s more temptation than I can take.” He sounds angry and amused, like he can’t decide what to do.

 

It takes her a moment to understand. She truly didn’t mean it like that, wouldn’t have thought to make such a suggestion. But now that she has, and now that she’s seen his reaction, she knows it’s on the list.

 

She’s still nervous and unsure, of so many things, but she can feel the tension leave her shoulders, can feel herself start to slip into this new skin. She lets her head fall back, giving better access to her neck. “Well I didn’t mean it that way, but now that you’ve brought it up, it sounds like a wonderful way to keep me quiet.”

 

He laughs and bites down on her neck, laughing more at her groaning _oh Maker_. “I don’t want you quiet.”

 

“Okay, but I still want you in my mouth. I’ll just moan loudly or something.”

 

He presses against her, his body shaking with laughter. Maybe something else, too, judging by his words. “You keep talking about it and round one is going to be over before we can get our clothes off.”

 

“Then we should get started on them, don’t you think?”

 

He moves his hands around to cup the back of her head, pulling her up to look at him. He’s hesitant and serious, the kindness in his eyes giving her a hint what he might say. “Are you ready for that? Should we go slow?”

 

She’s been trying to somehow think about that without thinking about it, knowing the more she does the more likely she’ll be to have a problem. But she knows, too, if she hears Sugar bark once their clothes are off, it’s probably going to get ugly for a few minutes. She really doesn’t want that.

 

“How about you lay me down on that soft bed you made and kiss me until I’m crying for the feel of your skin next to mine? Maybe that will help.”

 

He picks her up so easily she feels like she’s floating. Or maybe that’s just the magic they’re starting to weave, each step closer seeming to charge the air more, making her fingertips tingle like lightning is going to seep out.

 

She’s so happy she has to laugh, has to reach up, lean up to kiss him, stick her own fiery tongue in his mouth, kiss him hard until they’re both breathless. It’s not until he lays her down, still kissing between movements, that she realizes how much they’ve both been holding back. She knew their affection would heat up and become closer to passion, but she never expected this, the grinding, needy heat that leaves them both moaning words of adoration in each other’s mouths, leaves their hands groping and grasping to find ways under each other’s clothing.

 

She’s not mindless; she’s fully aware of everything around them. The only thing she can call it is implacable. She will have this: this man, this love, this consuming need and there is no power that can stop her. Can make her stop, can take her away from him.

 

And it’s there in his eyes, the same unshakeable determination, the same need to give himself wholly for this. For her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Please, let me see you in the firelight.” She’s not sure if she should ask, worried he’ll think her fast or greedy, but she has to. He said he’ll not make her wait any more, and she needs to see him. She’s not even sure why, never overly taken with men’s bodies, but her need for him is a need for everything, to experience him in every way possible. 

 

“Anything for you, my love.” She can tell he’s both pleased and nervous. Aroused and shy, a potent combination that leaves her even needier. 

 

She lies back and watches him undress, lost in the look on his face, the need, the blushing heat, the shyness fighting with pure lust. “You are so beautiful like this, Alistair, I could spend the rest of my days just looking at you.” 

 

It’s a direct hit, cupid’s arrow right to the heart, making him laugh and tear up and yank harder on his clothes, throwing his shirt and pants with no concern for where they land. 

 

He lies back, and she leans up on her elbow, their positions reversed and control of the night left somewhere in between them. 

 

She wants to touch him but can’t bring herself to, not yet. First, she must let her eyes travel the length of him, trying not to smile at the thought chasing itself through her head. She can’t keep from it, fear and delight lighting her face. 

 

“Share?” he asks, soft enough to make her think smiling at his nudity might be misconstrued. 

 

She lets her hand move finally, letting it stroke down his chest, start learning the way his skin feels beneath her fingertips. “The smile is me laughing at myself. At the little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying  _oh Maker, that’s never going to fit._ ” 

 

He laughs and blushes, more so when his cock gives an enthusiastic thump against his abdomen. She lets her hand trail down, hesitating before touching it. 

 

“May I?” she asks, as softly as he did. She doesn’t expect he’ll say no, but what does she know? She’s reaching the end of her meager experience. All she has left is memories of the books she’s read, the ones high on the library shelves, where short young ladies can’t easily see or reach. Unless they climb on a desk, of course. 

 

“Yes, please.”  

 

She can’t tell what she hears more, heat or humor, but either one works. She finds herself blushing, not sure if it’s embarrassment or a simple buildup of heat needing an outlet. She doesn’t let it stop her, just bites her lip as she lets her fingertips press against the shaft of his cock. 

 

He says something, but she can’t understand; it’s all garbled up with a moan and a growl. A look at his face gives her enough clues that it’s a good sound. She smiles at him and presses her fingers harder, sliding them down his cock. 

 

“Silk and stone,” she whispers happily, already in love with the feel of him in her hand. She turns serious, waiting for him to catch his breath as much as he can. “Show me what to do. How to make you feel good.” 

 

He drops a hand over hers as he pushes the other one into her hair, pulling her down as he wraps her hand around his cock. He kisses her hard and deep, burning her mouth with his need as he shows her how to stroke. 

 

She’s content to keep going, to let this be round one, to bask in his pleasure, the way he groans words in her mouth, the way his hips buck and his hands hold her hard against him. It’s not long until he tenses up and goes still, pulling her hand off him with a violence that makes her laugh in delight. He keeps his eyes closed tight and holds her still, not letting her touch him anywhere while he gets himself under control again. 

 

“That can be round three. Or four. Five even.” he says finally, the humor as unmistakable as his lust. He opens his eyes, nailing her in place with a look. “Now it’s my turn. Let me see you, my love; let me kneel and worship at your beauty.” 

 

The words leave her stunned, but it takes only a moment to recover, to laugh in delight before leaning over to kiss him. “Do you realize just how devastatingly sexy you are? You’re so smooth with the lines, I can hardly believe you have no experience with this.” 

 

He grins as he puts his arms behind his head, getting comfortable with his nudity. Or maybe he’s just trying to tease her more; it surely does that, whether he means it or not. “Does spending time thinking about this night count? Because I have a lot of hours in on that.” 

 

She kneels up next to him and pulls her dress off before she can let herself get nervous about it. Her hair spills over her shoulder as she tosses it aside and she can’t help but be glad for something to hide behind, even if it's only half way.  She knows she has nothing to hide, doesn’t need to hide, but it’s there anyway. All she can do is kneel and wait while she watches his him. 

 

He’s softer and more open than she’s ever seen, so obviously enthralled, in every sense of the word, that she has to reach up and move her hair, shake it loose behind her as she lifts her head and kneels up, letting him see her proudly naked. All for him, always for him and his mix of reverence and lust that leaves her on fire, leaves her wanting nothing more than to be lost in him until the end of days. 

 

She’s seeing something no one else ever has, a part of him he’s been holding on to, well hidden and well-guarded behind a wall of self-deprecating humor. She can’t help the feeling of possessive victory that washes over her, can’t stop her greedy delight at the knowledge she’s being handed something so priceless, something that will always be hers alone. 

 

“What’s more than I love you?” she asks softly. She hadn’t meant to speak it aloud but there it is. She’ll not take it back. 

 

“Yes, please,” he says happily, stabbing her in the heart with the tears in his eyes. 

 

“No going back. Not ever.” 

 

“Never ever, my love. This night will last until the end of time itself.” 

 

He opens his arms and she can only move into them, lie down with him as they wrap around each other, as they discover just how much magic skin to skin can generate. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

She never knew you can get drunk on love. Not giggly-silly-tipsy – she’s been that since the night he kissed her, if not longer. This is more intense, feeling exactly like an enthrallment spell should. Some small part of her is worried, instinctively knowing how addicting such intense euphoria might be. The rest of her only wants more.

She can’t decide which is better – the feel of his hands on her or of him under her hands. She wants to explore every inch of his skin, stroke and lick and kiss until his body is as intimately familiar as her own, but to do that means she can’t lose herself in the feel of his touch, the soft, raspy heat of his strong, broad hands stroking her with such obvious intent.

Their nervousness is gone, burned off by the heat they’re generating. They’re still inexperienced but that’s more than okay. It gives them questions to ask, a reason to give a hot, smoky laugh when they make each other’s eyes roll back in their heads.  _Do you like that? Does it feel good?_  asked not because they don’t know but only for the sheer delight of hearing the other’s moaning, breathless answer.  _Do you want more?_  asked for the way the answer feels like triumphant victory.

She likes knowing hers is the first body he’s touched in such ways. Teaching him how to please her is a rush. The way he smiles and moans at how her breasts fit so perfectly in his hands, like they were made for his touch; the way he instinctively grasps her by the hip hard enough to leave a thumbprint bruise, to hold her still or rock her against his leg.

He’s content to let her guide his hand, until he slips it between her legs for the first time. His immediate reaction is a moaning shudder as he clutches her to him, the feel of her wet heat making him croon in her ear. She wants him to keep exploring, let his thick fingers find her secret spots, but he has other ideas.

He moves to kneel between her legs, hands on her thighs to slowly spread them. “Your turn, my lady, show me how to please you.” He bends over for a fast kiss, a nip on her lips. “Show me how you do that thing I didn’t know women did.”

There’s nothing but humor in his voice but she can’t find a way to laugh about it, suddenly shy at the idea of exposing so much of herself. This is new territory for her, that he wants to know her as intimately as she wants to know him.

He kneels back, waiting patiently, his hands massaging her thighs, giving her the time to open them the rest of the way. She knows she can refuse, can say no to anything, with no need for an explanation, but this feels less like saying no and more like being a big ol’ chicken. What if the actual sight of pussy turns him right off? Or the smell, or the inevitable flooding wetness that already has the blanket damp under her? What if, what if, what if, when she thought she was long past such worries.

_Ok but what if? Really. What will you do?_

She has no answer for that, won’t even hazard a guess.  _Deal with it_ is the best she can come up with. Which is good enough, isn’t it? Considering how he’s looking at her, she doesn’t really believe it will even be an issue.

She spreads her thighs wide and adjusts her hips, biting her lip as she waits for his reaction. He gives her a smile, affection and pride at her courage, delighted curiosity for her body. She moves before she can talk herself out of it, siding her hands down to spread her vulva, open herself all the way. Let him see it all.

“Oh, how pretty, like perfect rose petals.” He leans down to press a kiss against her cunt, making her bite back a scream at the feel of it.

“Oh Maker, no, don’t, you need to stop that.”

He sits up fast, the apology staining his face until he sees the expression on hers.

“Not now. Wait. We’ll get mouthy later.”

He grins as he touches his tongue to his top lip. “Damn right we will, you juicy little peach.”

Embarrassment gets the better of her, turning her pink.  _Pussy pink_  her helpful mind supplies, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “How do you know so much for an inexperienced Chantry boy?”

He takes it in stride, understanding she’s only embarrassed and feeling awkward and able to give her a wide grin. “Because I have big ears, and the experienced Chantry boys loved to talk a lot. And loudly. But what about you? You seem to know far more than your experience might suggest. What’s your secret?”

“A well-stocked library.”

He laughs in delight and lies down on top of her, keeping himself propped up on elbows to watch her face. “Oh, bedtime stories. I can’t wait to hear those.”

No surprise or disdain that she’s read such books, nothing but hope and heat that she’ll share with him. Her embarrassment melts away, taking everything else with it, all but her overflowing love and desire for him. The smile on his face begs a response, how can she resist? She smiles back, a rich, dirty grin that makes him laugh in delight as she works her hand between them to find his cock.

“Your ears aren’t the only big thing on you, ser. We still need to find out if you’ll fit.”

“Well if I don’t at least we have a few back-up plans.” He’s teasing her, laughing as he puts his hand over hers. He takes a moment to work out positioning, to figure out how to keep maximum skin contact and still have enough room. He rubs the head of his cock up and down her cunt, learning how it feels. Giving her a chance to respond, to completely relax.

He puts the head inside her and stops, eyes closed for a moment in what looks like pure reverence. When he opens them again all playfulness is gone, replaced with such serious desire she forgets to breathe for a moment or two.

“I love you.” His voice is hot and ragged, the perfect counterpoint to the heat in his eyes.

She waits for him to start pushing into her, a slow-motion avalanche that forces the words from her throat and tears from her eyes. “Yes, please, I love you so.”

Her words dissolve into gasps and sobs as he fills her up. She’s more than relaxed and wet enough but it’s still a snug fit, enough to have him groaning and shaking by the time he bottoms out.

She shouldn’t be crying. Who cries during sex? But she can’t be too surprised – by  her tears or his. Isn’t this worth crying for? This magic and heat, this alchemy, this feeling of love, of possessing and being possessed.

He holds her tightly and kisses her tears, whispering against her skin. “Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

She tries to speak and sobs instead. When he tries to pull back, pull out, she wraps her arms and legs around him, keeping him tight against her. She shakes her head, trying to catch her breath so she can talk. “No, no don’t stop, don’t hold back, give me all of you, Alistair, your cock and your tears and your heart, I’m yours, all I want is you.”

He starts thrusting into her, finding an exquisitely slow rhythm, one that lights her up from toes to crown. It’s something between another avalanche and a lightning storm, every nerve popping awake and screaming  _yes, more_. She bites her lip to stay quiet, thinking there’s no way he wants to hear her babbling and begging.

He stops and holds himself still, moving only to kiss her hard, to pull her lip from between her teeth. “Don’t be quiet. I want to hear you. Tell me everything. Don’t hide from me.”

He’s so naked in his need for her, for all of her. It leaves her stunned and breathless, the first of many wounds they’ll inflict on each other, when their love and need for each other is so strong it cuts like the sharpest sword. How else can one respond to such an offering, except with one of their own? She cups the back of his head and places her other hand over his heart, fingers digging in as she rocks her hips and rides him.

She tells him everything, how the feeling of him rock hard and thrusting inside her makes her want to scream loud enough to shatter the sky, makes her feel like she’s flying, how she’s dying of love for him, for every single bit of him. She begs for more, for harder and faster, she opens herself in every way she knows how, pouring herself out as an offering to him. She’ll open a vein if he wants and she tells him that, too, elated and terrified at the true depths of her feelings for him.

And he eats it up, bathes in it, basks in it, encouraging and praising her. Thanking her with kisses and tears, with hard, deep thrusts, telling her he wants his cock to reach up to her heart, he wants to crawl in the veins she’ll open, drown in her every minute, every day. She is everything he was supposed to find in the Chantry and never could.

She didn’t know you can get drunk on love, and she didn’t know how much exquisite pleasure could hurt, how the sanctity of their love and magic would leave them both crying as he thrusts faster, as she rocks and grinds against him. They’re young and naïve, inexperienced about so much, but that doesn’t matter, can’t hold a candle to the instinct they have for each other, the way they work together, two bodies into one, two hearts crushed together to make a new religion, one where the worshipper is also the worshipped, where everything they do is a consecration.

They turn a simple physical act into a holy offering to the universe, whispered words summoning spirits that weep at the beauty of what they create together, when they both arch and cry out, the orgasms they give each other strong enough to feel like a knife in the chest, tearing words of love and devotion from the magic in the air, weaving it into their implacable truth, that there truly is no going back from this. 


	5. Chapter 5

She didn’t think it could get better, that nothing could top the feel of their coming together, taking such an inherently solitary moment and making it something they can share, can feel in each other, her orgasm made infinitely better by the volcanic feel of his coming inside her. 

 

But then there’s this moment, still sweating and breathing raggedly as they clutch each other, laughter and tears filling the night. This feeling of miracle, that they’ve been so blessed to find each other. 

 

“Had I only known, we would have been doing this a week ago.” 

 

Something has changed in his voice and it takes her a moment to figure it out. He doesn’t sound older or wiser, like more of a man, whatever that might mean. He sounds more whole. Less wounded. Less trapped in past mistakes. Or maybe it’s as simple as he sounds truly happy. 

 

“No, we wouldn’t. I was finally bleeding. Like a stuck pig, no less. Not what I would choose for our debut performance.” 

 

“I thought that was what was going on. Not that I know anything about such things, I just. I don’t know, could tell, I guess.” 

 

“How do you know me so well?” The questions is rhetorical, but he gives her an answer anyway, a lopsided smile and a shrug, a clear declaration of having no clue but still knowing it’s true. 

 

“Will we be able to keep doing this? While you’re bleeding?” 

 

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t see why not, if you don’t mind the sticky, bloody mess. I’m always lustier then anyway.” 

 

He laughs at that, tucking her closer as he slips a finger inside her. “That’s good to know. It seems I like sticky messes. Making them and playing in them.” 

 

“You’d better keep your fingers to yourself right now or you’re going to be making another one. And I need to eat first or you’ll be listening to my stomach gurgle. Not sexy.” 

 

“Yes, it is. Everything about you is.” He pulls his finger out and rolls on top her. He sticks it in her mouth and follows it with his tongue, teaching her how to kiss him and suck it at the same time, a combination she would have never thought to try. 

 

“Maker’s breath, I didn't know I could love someone like this.” She talks around his finger, the words coming without thought. She wants to roll her eyes but she’s learning to accept it. He likes it when she blurts things out, when she lays herself bare for him before he can ask her to. 

 

He draws his finger from her mouth to trace her lips. “Me neither. I was beginning to think I couldn’t. Another way I was broken.” 

 

That tears at her heart, the knowledge of just how unkindly the world has treated him. Everyone and everything made him feel unwanted, useless, so different as to be worthless. And still somehow, he’s kept going. Kept his heart safe and guarded from the forces that would leave it shriveled and barren. 

 

“Every bad thing they’ve made you believe about yourself is wrong, Alistair. You’re worth more than all of them put together.” 

 

“I keep telling myself if someone as amazing as you loves me, I must not be quite as bad as I’ve been led to believe.” There’s that humor coming out, his natural deflection, but it doesn’t stay long, burned off by the heat that comes up in his eyes. “What they think no longer matters. Who they are, what they are, it’s nothing to me, not stacked next to you. You make me think I can be a good man. That I already am, maybe, and can only get better.” 

 

Yes, that. An idea comes, that how the world tried to shape her backfired, did nothing but make her more determined to light the world on fire. And now, she has a reason to do it. That the love of this reverent, noble man will give her the strength to save the very world that cast them both in the chains of its expectations. 

 

“They’re going to write books about us. History books and fairy tale love stories.” Her voice is soft but there’s no mistaking the certainty in it. She knows it to be true, knows it in her bones, where the truth of what they are together lives. 

 

“The bastard Prince and the outcast Teyrna and the love that will save the world.” He turns serious, as much as he can in the moment. “You know they’re going to give us grief, right? Not just our traveling companions, although they’ll get first shot at it.” 

 

She can feel it settle on her face, her mantle of imperious determination, her mother’s bane and her father’s delight. “First smart comment, and I feed them to the darkspawn.” She means it, too. She’ll not tolerate any more disparaging comments, about either of them. 

 

“See? This is why I love you.” He cups her face, letting his thumb softly stroke her skin. “I meant it, you know. About not letting you go again. I want to be by your side until the end of days. Which doesn’t mean much, I know, since that could come at any moment. We still have to end the Blight.” 

 

Yes, that too. A nagging though comes up, one she’ll find herself worrying over in the days to come. Is this love going to be payment for saving the world or merely the stick used to beat her into doing it? She knows it doesn’t matter. Either way she’s already locked in, far past any chance of getting out, but still, it lingers. 

 

“We stay together, no matter what happens.” She means that, too. It’s both a declaration of intention and a grave warning to anything that might be thinking of trying to tear them apart. She won’t give him up, no matter who tries to make it so. 

 

“It’s that simple.” he says, his laughter bright enough to light the darkness around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder - As


End file.
